History in the Making
by ravengal
Summary: As Britain bickers with France, a stray thought causes him to reflect on the Hundred Years' War... and all the things that transpired throughout it. [Light FrUK]


Author's note: Hi!

... Well. This fic was born from watching waaaaay too much of a YouTube video called Childish 100 Years' War. It got me interested in the aforementioned war, I did some research and, well... here we are!

... Also, I think this is my first first-person fic. I don't tend to do those... but it just felt right doing it like this, so hey!

... And my first present-tense fic. I don't tend to do those, either. Huh. Apparently, it's experimentation day!

Also, if I've made any mistakes at all in this fic (in my vain attempt to be historically accurate), then please feel free to tell me.

Well, I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 **History in the Making**

We're arguing again. We're always bloody arguing. In fact, I don't think a day goes by when we're _not_ arguing.

I scowl harder at the face before me. That irritatingly French face that pisses me off on a daily basis.

Insults are being thrown back and forth, though I hardly know what I'm saying anymore; 'frog' this and 'surrender monkey' that. It's all the same, really. Also, for the love of the bloody queen, why is he calling me a roast beef?! I don't even _eat_ roast beef anymore! Not much, anyway...

He's wearing his trademark smirk. The one that I just want to punch straight off his face whenever I see it. It irritates the ever-loving hell out of me and he bloody well knows it.

We have quite the history, the two of us. Any old fool can tell you that. Particularly the ones who were there to see it.

Tensions have always been high between our countries. Ever since we were born, we've done nothing but fight and try to control each other's land.

I suppose our most notorious conflict was the Hundred Years' War. A long and complex battle that spanned three eras.

I huff angrily, glaring into the wanker's eyes. I remember the day that it all started, almost like it was yesterday. He was smirking on _that_ day, too.

* * *

 **1337**

"On behalf of His Majesty, King Edward the third," I stated, "the House of Plantagenet reasserts its claim to the French throne." Smirking, I pointed at France. "Now, tell your king to hand it over, frog!"

France blinked at me. Once. Twice. Then he started laughing. That irritatingly pompous laugh that always grated on my ears.

"Oh, you are trés amusing, mon ami~" he replied.

I scowled, balling my fists. "This is no joke, frog!" I pointed at him again. "You know damn bloody well that my king has every right to your throne!"

"Non, actually, 'e does not." France circled around me tauntingly. "It was established long ago zat women 'ave no right to ze zrone in zis country, oui? Does ze Salic law not ring any bells?"

"I know that! But what you didn't allow his mother to do has nothing to do with His Majesty, King Edward the third!"

"Actually, it does." France took on a regal air as he began quoting the law. "'Concerning terra Salica, no portion or in'eritance is for a woman, but all ze land belongs to members of ze male sex 'oo are brozers.'" He smirked. "Zat is why it went to 'is Majesty, King Philip ze sixz. Ze cousin of your king's brozer-in-law. Because ze Capet branch of ze family tree, full of women as it is, 'as already been passed over, in favour of ze Valois branch."

I glared at him.

He smirked back at me. "Zat and zey don't want a rosbif on ze zrone."

The blood in my veins boiled at this. "You bloody wanker!"

France shrugged dramatically. "I don't make ze rules, mon ami~"

I huffed angrily. "Now, you look here! My king will get his bloody throne, one way or the other!"

"Ohon, your king is so naughty, oui? Per'aps we should take away ze Duchy of Aquitaine to make 'im be'ave?"

"Don't you bloody dare! You do that and war will be declared! Do you hear me? War!" I paused a few moments to catch my breath. My heart was pounding in my ears. "Are we clear on that?"

France's eyes glinted for a second. "Crystal."

I continued to glare at him for a few moments longer. "... Hmph."

Furious, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the castle. The less I had to look at that wanker's froggy face, the better.

Some union of countries that royal marriage had turned out to be...

* * *

 **1346**

Nine years into the war, my country had fallen sick. _Very_ sick. Bloody hell...

I remained bed-ridden most days, running a high fever and occasionally throwing up blood. I could barely move for the aching. I may not have been able to catch the actual virus myself, but, since my people were sick, so was I. Just in a different way. As a result, our war with France had to be put on hold.

Speaking of that frog, I had to wonder if _he'd_ fallen sick, too. Not that I was concerned about him, of course. Him and his froggy country. It was just that it'd be problematic, is all.

... Regardless, I hoped he was okay.

* * *

 **1360**

Battered and bruised, France lay on his back in the dirt, panting. Grinning victoriously, I cocked an arrow and pointed it at his face. He glared up at me.

"You've lost, frog," I said.

"Ou... Oui..." he replied.

"No need to fret, though, old chap. My king has stated that he'll let _your_ king keep his throne..." A flash of hope crossed France's face. My grin widened. "In exchange for some of your land." The hope immediately vanished.

After a moment, France heaved a sigh. "Very well..." He looked at my arrow expectantly.

"... What?"

"Well, if you're going to shoot me, zen get it over wiz."

I stared at him, my smile dropping and my gaze hard. I was bloody tempted, I'll admit. Seeing an arrow through that aggravating face would certainly brighten my day. Especially since it would be a mark of my superiority over him.

However, as I continued to stare at him, I realised I was better than that. I was a gentleman. I shouldn't shoot someone in the face, unless they truly deserved it. Besides, he did look rather pitiful, being in the state he was. His usually carefully-groomed appearance was covered in dirt and my arrows had nicked him in several places already.

Tutting, I lowered the bow, turned and walked away. Bloody frog.

* * *

 **1369**

"What do you want, frog?" I asked grumpily.

France wore his trademark smirk. "'is Majesty, King Charles ze fifz," he said, "requests ze presence of your gracious Prince Edward in Paris."

I kept my gaze on him for a few moments. Then I turned to Prince Edward of Woodstock, who was hovering nearby.

"Your Majesty?"

The prince scowled. He shook his head, lifting a hand in dismissal, and walked away.

I looked back at France. "Well, there's your answer. Now, bugger off."

France's mouth fell open as he frantically looked between me and my retreating prince. "But... But zis is a request from 'is Majesty!"

"Yes and Prince Edward clearly told you to piss off. So, kindly piss off."

France stared at me for a few moments, open-mouthed.

Eventually, a dark smirk appeared on his face. "You do know... zat zis will mean war..."

I returned the dark smirk with ease. "Bring it on, frog face."

* * *

 **1389**

Bollocks. As if lying on my back in the dirt wasn't humiliating enough, I had to endure having France's sword grazing my throat, as well. The worst part, though, was the grin on that smarmy face above me.

"Ohonhon~!" he said. "I win."

I glared at him, wincing slightly from the pain. Who knew how many cuts and bruises littered my body.

"Yes, alright, you wanker," I replied. "Just take your land back and shut up."

"Ohon, gladly."

Lowering his sword, he spun it around once, then sheathed it. I raised an eyebrow at this action. Wasn't he going to finish the job?

In response, he merely winked and blew me a kiss. "Salut~!"

Turning on his heel with a flourish, he walked away.

... Bloody wanker.

* * *

 **1415**

"Just what do you rosbifs zink you're doing?!" France cried, his eyes wide.

I smirked at him across the ruined landscape. "On behalf of His Majesty, King Henry the fifth," I called out, pointing at him, "I hereby claim Normandy!"

France clenched a fist angrily. "What ze 'ell is wrong wiz you?"

I placed my wrists on my hips and laughed at him. "Sorry, Francey-Pants, but I don't make the rules!"

"You are basically declaring war right now! You know zis, oui?"

I gave a knowing grin. "Oh, yes. So, you'd better get your army ready, old chap."

He clenched his fist tighter. "Very well."

* * *

 **1431**

I couldn't watch. I honestly couldn't bear to watch such an atrocity. Capturing Joan of Arc was one thing, but burning her at the stake? And for what? Cross-dressing? Having short hair? It was sick. Really bloody sick.

It wasn't often I questioned the decisions of my people, but this? They'd invited me to it. Like it was bloody entertainment. I refused to go.

This woman... No, girl. She was only bloody nineteen, after all. I could tell she meant a lot to the French. A lot to _France_. She'd been one of their country's leading inspirational figures in the battle, so of course they'd be devastated. Knowing what was happening to her was making me lose faith in my own bloody people.

Bloody wankers... the lot of them...

Speaking of France, I was rather concerned about him. I couldn't imagine how he was feeling at the moment. I knew he knew what was going on. I also knew that he had no power to stop it. Neither did I.

Maybe, after they disposed of her ashes, I'd lay down some flowers, or something. For _his_ sake...

* * *

 **1453**

Well. I've certainly been here before. Lying in the dirt with a sword aimed at my throat. Delightful.

By all rights, France should have looked happy. Hell, he should have been gloating. The smile he was giving me, however, looked worn. Tired.

"Guess I win," he said.

"Yes..." I replied, "quite."

He closed his eyes for a moment, looking several centuries older than he should have. When he opened them again, he removed the sword and sheathed it at his side. Then, with less grace than I'd expect, he turned on his heel and walked away.

* * *

 **1456**

Innocent. They'd declared her innocent. A change of Pope, a review of evidence and, suddenly, Joan of Arc had been declared innocent.

It only brought a small amount of relief, honestly.

At least her legacy could live on unblemished. The fact remained, however, that she'd been killed at the tender age of nineteen.

Nineteen. It was so young that I couldn't even remember when _I'd_ been nineteen. How old even _was_ I anymore? It was hard for a nation to keep track, sometimes.

Speaking of my nation, it was fighting amongst itself. A conflict over the bloody throne. I honestly had more important things to do than fight my own bloody people. Besides, which side would I even take? No, this war was best fought without me.

Instead, somehow, my feet took me all the way to the country of France. Why? Even I wasn't sure. A part of me just really needed to see how the frog was doing. He hadn't looked so good the last time I'd seen him.

I was let into the castle easily enough. I guess I'd have to peg that down to nation privileges. Either way, I started looking around.

"Frog?" I called out. I was greeted with silence. "... France?" More silence. "France, you git, where are you?!"

Eventually, a figure appeared. As I laid eyes on it, I had to hold in a gasp. France looked bloody terrible! His hair was a mess, his face was flushed and he looked unsteady on his feet. As he got closer, I realised with horror that his clothes were crumpled, he had bags under his eyes and he was panting slightly. What the hell?!

"France?!"

"Oui, mon ami... it is me."

"What... what happened to you?"

"Oh, you know... zis and zat." I frowned at him. He sighed, steadying himself on the nearby wall. "Zings 'ave not been easy since ze war ended. My country, she 'as been overrun wiz civil wars, epidemics and famine." He shook his head sadly. "Ce n'est pas bon..."

"Oh... well... I'm sorry to hear that, old chap..."

France gave me a small smile. "Merci."

I shuffled awkwardly, suddenly avoiding his gaze. "Um, I take it you've heard about...?"

"Jeanne d'Arc?" He paused a moment. "Oui."

"Um..." I had no bloody clue what to say here.

"It is good zat she got some justice..."

"Y-Yes... quite..."

A silence stretched out between us.

"... So..." he said.

I looked up at him. "Hmm?" I replied.

The small smile was back. "What did you come 'ere for? 'ere to rage anozer war?" He laughed lightly. "I don't zink I'm in any condition to fight right now."

I frowned slightly. "No, that's not why I'm here." I gave a small huff. "Besides, my own people are a bit busy fighting each _other_ at the moment."

"... So, why are you 'ere?"

Oh, bugger.

"Well... I just..." I trailed off, looking away.

"Hmm?"

There was a silence as I refused to look at him. He circled around me, trying to look at my face. I looked away each time he did this. After a few moments, I heard that accursed French laughter.

"Mon ami... don't tell me you're actually _worried_ about me~?"

I spluttered in indignation, turning to glare at him. "N-No!" Frustratingly, I felt the blood rush to my face. Bloody hell. "It would just be problematic if you were sick! Or depressed!" I pointed at him. "Problematic for _me_ , that is! I certainly wasn't doing it for _your_ sake!"

Again came the French laughter. The one that grated on my ears and made him sound _so very_ lecherous. I mean, he _was_ , but that was besides the point.

"Seems you 'aven't changed, _after_ all. I was beginning to wonder."

I folded my arms grumpily. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Laughing again, he poked me in the cheek. I couldn't help but notice that the laughter was making him look considerably younger.

"You're a little bundle of sweet and sour, mon ami~"

Grumbling, I looked away again.

Suddenly, there was a pause. "Merci, zough."

I looked up at him. "Hmm?"

He gave me that small smile again. "Merci for coming to check on me. I zink I will survive, zough."

I blinked at him. After a moment, I cleared my throat and looked away. "Yes, well... you're welcome, I suppose." I began to straighten my coat. "It _is_ , after all, the duty of a gentleman to do such things."

"Of course, of course~"

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "Hmph."

He grinned back at me.

... Bloody frog.

* * *

I continue to glare at France. The nation who's wearing the same bloody smirk he's always worn.

Loath as I am to admit it, though, I prefer _this_ France to the one I saw at the end of the Hundred Years' War. That one was just bloody depressing.

"Ohon," he says, "you've gone awfully quiet, mon ami."

I straighten my jacket. "Yes, well..." I reply, "I was thinking, is all."

He leans forwards, right into my personal space. "Care to share wiz the _rest_ of ze class?"

That git. He knows how uncomfortable that makes me.

"W-Well..." Curse my stutter. "I was thinking that you're as insufferable as ever."

He laughs that obnoxious French laugh. Strangely, it doesn't annoy me as much as it used to. It's still annoying, though.

"Well, it seems we're on ze same page zen, oui?" He winks at me. "Because I find you just as insufferable."

I scowl harder. "Wanker."

"Black sheep."

"Frog."

"Rosbif."

"Git."

"Lapin."

I falter, blinking at this weird new word. "Wha-?"

Before I know what's going on, I feel something on my nose. It takes all of two seconds to realise that _he's bloody kissing my nose_!

The heat rises to my face so fast, it's like a volcano just erupted.

"B... B... Bloody..."

He pulls away, smirking victoriously at me. "Ohon~! Looks like I win."

He spins on his heel and prances away. As he reaches the corner, he stops for a moment to wink and blow me a kiss, then disappears out of sight.

I continue to stare at the spot he'd just been, my brain unable to function and my mouth unable to form words...

That... bloody... wanker.

 **The End**


End file.
